


Professional

by schifaroo



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fetish Clothing, Leather, M/M, Meet-Cute, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schifaroo/pseuds/schifaroo
Summary: Fashion model Eliot Waugh takes a chance on a different genre at the recommendation of his agent and is pleased with the results.—Or, it's a meet-cute in which Eliot Waugh keeps things very professional, thanks very much.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	Professional

Eliot Waugh wasn’t exactly a big name model in the business; he worked for the London and Los Angeles fashion weeks regularly, but never Milan or Paris or New York. However, his agent had a new idea to set him apart. His new ideas were routinely terrible, but Eliot prided himself on being up for anything. It was really the only way to survive being represented by Todd.

The designer, Julia, assessed him while her intern fidgeted with the third body harness they'd given him. 

“I think that’s it. Let’s see them all together,” Julia clapped her hands as if congratulating herself on a job well done. She waved for Eliot to put on his robe and follow her. 

A handful of other robed models mingled throughout the sound stage; the photographer and her team milled around, testing the lighting at various angles. Eliot kept to the side. He didn’t recognize anyone from any of his previous jobs, but he didn’t entirely expect to: the fetish wear scene was fairly niche. 

“Kady, are we ready to go?” The photographer motioned for Julia to come to check something through her camera lens. They exchanged a few words, Julia nodding with excitement. 

“Let’s line up, over here, against the bare wall,” Kady called for her models. As they all disrobed and assembled, Eliot tried to look over the group with a level of detached professionalism. He was curious about what separated designer fetish wear from cheap club outfits besides the price tag. 

The collection relied heavily on red leather, cut in refined shapes and sophisticated shades. As Kady and Julia arranged them, he tried to get a look at the showcase pieces. It seemed they were being organized around a stunning woman with straight hair and dark makeup. She was dressed in tight leather pants and a corset done up with complicated knots in the back. Margo, as Julia kept calling her, looked thoroughly comfortable dominating the center stage, but he couldn’t get a good look at the man Julia kept pulling forward to stand next to her. 

The group shots were easy enough: shift your shoulders, make love to the camera, there you go, done. 

“I want Quentin with one of the men,” Kady said. She traded one camera for another and started fidgeting with the focus. “I was thinking Body Harness?” 

Eliot, of course, was Body Harness. Quentin, who had seemed shy posing next to Margo, perked up and surveyed the group looking for him. Eliot smiled and gave a casual wave; he was pleasantly surprised to receive a bright smile back. Gratified by Quentin’s obvious once over, Eliot felt invited to take his time with his own appraisal. Quentin was dressed in a black mesh crop top, with red leather details along each hem, and maroon leather shorts.

They would look good together. Quentin's eyes met his; he seemed to agree.

“Everybody else, let’s take a beat,” Kady commanded, “Let’s start with some soft light and curtains?” 

“Yeah, I like that contrast,” Julia agreed. 

The two of them moved to the center of the set, where there was a fake window, with fake sunshine and a fake breeze. Hair and makeup descended on them in a flurry. Kady pushed and prodded them a little bit, then stepped back to consider.

“That’s it,” she said, “Don’t go all porn star on me, or well... _do,_ but let’s keep this first round a little gentler. Got it?”

“Yeah—” Eliot started to confirm, then Quentin stepped up next to him, and instantly Kady, the set, everyone around them fell into a fuzzy background.

Quentin flicked his eyes up as if checking Eliot was still with him, then back to the camera, caught the shot, adjusted his arm slightly where it was slung low around Eliot’s hips. He was shorter than Eliot, but his thighs and arms were strong and his hands were square and masculine. As Quentin slipped two fingers under the band of Eliot’s thong, it was easy for him to lose focus on everything except where their bodies touched. 

Eliot slid a hand behind Quentin’s neck, careful to drag some of his long hair between his fingers. That caught Quentin’s attention—he tilted his head back into Eliot’s hand, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, and Eliot looked out at the camera he vaguely remembered. He tried to look challenging—as if claiming what was rightfully his—but not menacing. 

Quentin opened his eyes and smirked. He slid one leg between Eliot’s and pressed his hand underneath the shoulder strap of his harness. Possessive, strong, domineering; Eliot rolled his head back and let himself be possessed.

“Soften it up, guys. C’mon,” Kady directed, jolting Eliot back into their work.

Eliot pushed Quentin back so he could sit on the fake windowsill, legs spread out wide in front of him. He grabbed Quentin by the hips and pulled him in close. The leather of his shorts was fine and smooth under his hands. Responding instantly, Quentin placed one hand on Eliot’s shoulder and slid the other one around the corner of his jaw; he pushed even closer between Eliot’s thighs and rested their foreheads together for a heartbeat—for two heartbeats. Quentin leaned back then and smiled at him, radiant and genuine.

Eliot was drowning. Quentin’s eyes were breathtaking. Layers of melancholy and joy and a million other emotions Eliot wanted to peel apart and understand; deep browns and light hazel dappled with the subtlest hints of gold. He could stay there for hours, but someone said something that broke the moment. 

Quentin maneuvered around his legs so that Quentin could straddle him, undoubtedly pulling his pants tighter across his undoubtedly perfect ass. Maybe whoever had suggested it wasn’t in the wrong after all. He needed to get a look at Quentin’s ass before their robes went back on. 

_Keep it professional,_ Eliot reminded himself.

“Guys, I really need you—” a woman started to say.

“Just go with it,” another woman interrupted her.

Quentin’s hands snaked their way into his hair. Their lips danced around each other but didn’t touch. Their eyes met, then separated again. Quentin arched his back and he almost pressed his lips to Quentin’s Adam’s apple. Eliot leaned back into the window and Quentin’s lips almost grazed his cheek. 

Their movements were smooth and easy; a simple, instinctual give and take between them. Quentin moved back a little and ran a hand up his inner thigh. _Professional_ , Eliot tried to focus on his mantra, as he shifted his leg so whoever wanted a look could see how Quentin’s hand found the fabric at the front of his thong. _Professional_ , he kept telling himself, as he thrust gently into the hand that traced the thong’s outer hemline while he tangled his own hands in soft mesh and softer hair.

Eliot stood, took a step, and pushed Quentin against the wall next to the window. The curtains billowed on either side of them. Someone told them to hold their position, and he had no qualms with keeping this man caged between his arms. 

Someone fixed the curtains around them; someone else dimmed the lights. 

“You’re easy to work with,” Quentin murmured, gleeful eyes holding his, hands steady on his hips, "A good partner. It's nice."

Eliot smiled at the compliment, but before he could return one, they were commanded to begin again. 

Quentin surged up and kissed him, quickly, then backed up slowly, slowly, slowly, so every frame could be recorded. He grinned, almost sheepish. Eliot took him by the nape of his neck and returned the kiss, slowly, slowly, slowly. 

With one hand braced against the wall, Eliot took his turn tracing the waistband of Quentin’s shorts. He explored upwards, pushing, pushing, pushing past the shirt’s edge. Quentin drew in a small breath as Eliot’s thumb passed over his nipple. No one would notice but him, Eliot knew. _Professional_ , he repeated, as he bent down to nuzzle his nose against Quentin‘s, first locking eyes with him, then locking eyes with whoever was off to his right, interrupting them with quick, percussive clicks. 

Quentin called his attention back as he began to trace over the leather bands wrapped around his body; his hands were warm where they pressed against his exposed chest, over his back, around his abs. His hands caressed his shoulders and pressed down. Eliot had never sunk to his knees so easily, especially not on a job, especially not while being _professional._ Eliot knelt, gripping Quentin’s thighs and drinking in Quentin’s gaze, all while his fingers played through Eliot’s hair and over his neck, caressed his cheeks and his jawline. 

It was intoxicating.

Then, they were done. Quentin extended a hand to help him back to his feet. Someone brought him and Quentin their robes. They were ushered off set. Margo and a blonde woman were ushered on. In the bustle, Quentin escaped somewhere, and Eliot, professional as he was, didn’t go to look for him. 

There would still be the runway and the after-party though. 

* * *

There was a week between the shoot and the runway. 

It was a very long week.

* * *

The runway was a blur. The most Eliot even saw of Quentin was when they were lined up for the final lap. They fleetingly made eye contact before a makeup artist jerked Eliot’s face back to the front to fix his eyeliner. 

Afterward, Quentin eluded him. It seemed to be his specialty. But, there was still the after-party to attend, Eliot reminded himself, there was still the after-party.

* * *

Eliot took his time circling the room. He knew that Quentin had arrived exactly eighteen minutes after he had; he knew Quentin had ordered a glass of red wine from the bar; he knew Quentin had been talking with Julia and Margo across the room. But, he’d lost him again. 

It didn’t matter, Eliot reminded himself. He was being patient, aloof, collected. If tonight was going to be successful, he needed to take his time.

“You look like you could use another drink.” His memory hadn’t done his voice justice. Eliot turned slowly, trying to look appropriately surprised. Quentin held two glasses of red and offered one to Eliot, “And um. I couldn’t help but notice we had the same order.”

The bit of hesitation was adorable; as if he didn’t know his eyes pinned Eliot right where he stood; as if he didn’t know he was inconceivably gorgeous. He wore a black shoulder harness that was probably one of Julia's designs over a dark blue button-down—a delectable combination. His long hair was tied back in a neat bun—nice enough by most people’s standards, easily rectifiable by Eliot’s. He licked his lips and took the offered glass.

“Quentin Coldwater,” he said, “I’m Eliot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, here we are! 
> 
> For now, I'm considering this complete, but maybe someday I'll write a part-two/smut-fest? Maybe I'll find time to take this and turn it into a fully baked fetish wear, fashion icon, drama-rama A/U? Who knows?!


End file.
